Tango Key (39 page)

He touches the side of her face. "It's really black and blue. Does your mouth hurt?"

"Yeth." She jerks her head away, and moves back. "Don't hurt me," she whimpers. "Pleathe don't hurt me. My daddy won't like it if you hurt me."

"Your daddy isn't here."

She frowns. Something is wrong. The fuzz in her head confuses her. She spoke to her daddy, didn't she? He went through the hole in the wall. Like Alice. Only Alice slipped through a hole in the ground while she was following a white rabbit. Eve remembers this story; she can even hear her mother reading the story to her one night in a bar somewhere.

A bar?

No, no, no, that can't be right.

"I've got a newspaper," he is saying as he leads her into the hall. "I want you to see what they're saying about you. They think you split. They think you went sailing. You'll
have to stay here with me now for a little while, then we'll take our own trip. Tonight. Later tonight. Won't that be fun?"

They stop at the bathroom door and he nudges it open with his foot.

"Ith dark in there," she says. "It thinkth. Why ith your houthe tho dirty? Why don't you clean your bathroom? My mouth hurth. Will you take me to the dentith?"

He frowns again. It scares her when he frowns like that. It does weird things to his eyes, his face. "What's wrong with you, anyway?" He touches the side of her face with the palm of his hand, and she snaps her head away again.

"No touch."

He grabs her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there. "Babe, we've been through this before, remember? I can touch you if I want. I can fuck you if I want. I can do anything to you that I want to. Now go on in there. I left you water and soap and some toothpaste and a toothbrush."

He says nasty words. He is not a nice man. She doesn't like him. "You broke my teeth. I can't bruth them. I want to talk to my daddy."

"You go on and your daddy will be out here."

"You're not my daddy."

"I'm your daddy's friend. Your daddy had to go out for something. He'll be back in a little while. He told me to take care of you, to get you breakfast."

He's lying. He thinks he can fool her, but he can't. He's lying. The only place her daddy went was through the hole. To chase Alice's white rabbit. But she doesn't tell him that. She lets him put his hands on her shoulders and march her into the bathroom. He motions toward the things he has laid out on the back of the toilet. He pours her a glass of water from the plastic jug, reaches into his pocket, brings out two tablets. "Take these. They'll make your mouth stop hurting."

"I don't want them. You tricked me before."

"This is the codeine, it'll help your gums."

She takes them, sets the glass down. "Leave me alone, pleathe."

He does.

She pees, then pours water from the jug onto the washcloth, rubs the soap against it, scrubs her face. It feels good. She squirts toothpaste onto the bristles of the toothbrush and brushes at her back teeth. She rinses her mouth out with water, squirts toothpaste onto her finger and touches it to the broken front teeth. She slides the paste over the teeth with her tongue, but it hurts, it makes her gums throb.

"Babe? Here's your coffee."

The door swings inward. He holds out a plastic cup of coffee. "I can't," she says. "I'm not old enough for coffee."

That worried look slips across his features again. "Look, your daddy said it was okay to drink the stuff."

"It'll hurt my teeth. They're broke."

"It's okay. The coffee won't hurt your teeth. Rinse with the salt water in that other jug. Remember how the salt water helped last night?"

Last night? What's he talking about? The unremembered thing hisses inside her. She shakes her head, telling it to go away. She rubs her hands over her arms, takes the glass from him. She sips at it. The coffee tastes good, but it's too hot, it stirs the pain in her gums, and she starts to cry. The cup slips from her hand, smacks the floor. The coffee spills everywhere. She cries harder.

"It's okay, babe. It's okay. You sit there on the tub and I'll clean it up."

"My name ith Evie," she sobs. "Evie, not 'Babe'!"

"Don't cry. It makes me angry when you cry. You don't want me to get angry, do you? You don't want me to have to punish you again, do you?"

Cry, angry, punish: the words make her sob harder. She can't catch her breath. He's moving toward her, his face red and ugly.

"Stop it!" he shouts. "Stop it!"

He grabs her by the arms, shaking her. Her broken teeth rattle in her mouth. The pain burns through her gums, digs into her nostrils, zips up, up into her brain. Everything blurs. His face, the walls, the inside of her head, the sink.

"Cut it out! Stop crying!"

But she can't. The sobs swell in her chest, shove their way up her throat, nearly choking her, and slap the air. He stops shaking her. Now he's taking off his belt. Doubling it. Tapping it against his palm. "You know what this is, babe?"

"Nuhnuhnuh." She shakes her head over and over again, backing away from him, her eyes on the belt. There is a rush of warmth between her legs, a rush that means something, that reminds her of other times when a belt didn't frighten her. But now it does. This time it's different. This time. . .

"Turn around."

"No."

"Bad girls get spanked. Turn around."

"No!" she screams, and keeps screaming it even as he grabs her around the waist, forces her over the edge of the tub, yanks down her jeans.

"You have to learn, babe. Girls have to obey. Do you understand?"

She cries harder. The edge of the tub hurts her ribs, her chest. She kicks. He grabs her chin, his hand slips, and she bites it, sinking her jagged teeth into the flesh on the back of his hand until she tastes blood, until her gums burn with agony.

"You shouldn't have done that," he hisses, one hand hard against the back of her neck, holding her head down, into the tub. "I'm sorry you're making me do this."

Then the belt whistles toward her.

She screams.

July 6, 8:00 A.M.

". . . and in the local news, Tango Key police are still searching for Eve Cooper, who is wanted for questioning concerning the homicide of her husband, defense attorney Douglas Cooper, almost a month ago. She was last seen on July fourth. Also wanted for questioning in connection with the case is Steve Murphy, formerly a homicide detective with the department. If you have any information, please call the Tango Key police department . . ."

Aline switched off the radio and cruised to a stop in front of the Cooper mansion. A honey-colored light filtered down through the pines at the sides of the house. Birds twittered and trilled in the light breeze that stirred the patches of pine needles in the driveway. The empty driveway: the VW had been found at the marina and towed to the station warehouse, along with Cooper's Porsche. The Mercedes had been traced to a garage in Key West, where the owner possessed a bill of sale for $8,000 and the registration. Eight grand for a $35,000 car: Eve had been desperate for money.

Plastered on the front door was a bright gold banner with bold black letters on it that said: NO TRESPASSING BY ORDER OF THE TANGO KEY POLICE DEPARTMENT. She ignored it and walked around to the back of the house. She stood for a moment at the edge of the yard, gazing out at the slate blue water. Light rippled and swirled across the surface like icing on a cake—shoots of pearl, of pale pink, ribbons of yellow.

Her eyes followed the old dock inland, to the narrow beach where Cooper's body had been found a month ago tomorrow. The sand was the color of oatmeal. Six or eight crabs scurried about, conducting whatever business it was that crabs had in the world.

Are there crabs where you are, Murphy?

She turned away and walked toward the back stoop and up the stairs. Sunlight struck the sliding glass doors. She paused before she unlocked them and stared at her reflection. Funny, she didn't look any different. Her hair was loose, her khaki slacks were the ones she always wore during the summer, and the pale blue short-sleeved shirt was one Murphy had given her. She wore the rose quartz crystal around her neck, which she'd been wearing the first night she'd gone out with Kincaid. It was basically the same image she'd looked at for almost thirty-four years. And yet inside, everything was changed.

She didn't know what she was doing here, really. By this time yesterday, the house had been thoroughly searched and APBs had been issued on both Eve and Murphy. She didn't expect to find anything inside. No clues. No leads. Nothing. Eve had fled and Murphy had gone with her and what could be simpler than that? She'd been right, for all the good it had done her.

But somehow it didn't feel quite right. Every time she thought about it, hoping for the sudden, sharp burning in her chest, the burning of a hunch that would tell her she was absolutely correct, that area of her chest felt dead and cold. Last night, hours after Kincaid had fallen asleep beside her, she had lain awake, trying to pursue each possibility to its conclusion. It had been a kind of mental gymnastics, a free fall through her knowledge of Murphy, as intimate as it was, and through her knowledge of Eve, as limited as that was. And in the end, it had all kept coming back to Monica.

Not just that Eve and Monica resembled each other so closely, not just that the resemblance had seized Murphy, entranced him, possessed him, but something more. Something she couldn't quite grasp: This morning it still eluded her. So here she was, unlocking the sliding glass door, stepping into the empty rooms that had been Eve's life.

Well, not exactly empty. The furniture was here. Magazines were still stacked neatly in wicker baskets. There was even a bouquet of roses in a Waterford crystal vase on top of the TV. The roses looked a little wilted, but their fragrance lingered.

Aline wandered through the rooms, sometimes touching objects, as if hoping to connect with a part of Eve. She paused in the doorway of the living room, gazing at the grand piano, the books, the utterly empty perfection of the room. She went upstairs, into the master bedroom. Her gaze lingered on the nightstand where the ear had been. Bill Prentiss had confirmed that it was Cooper's. But why had Eve left it? As a way of mocking them all? As her final testimony to the truth?

She opened the closet doors. It was hard to tell if any of Eve's clothes were missing, because there were so many. Unlike her own closet, where clothes hung in no particular order, these were arranged in groups. Shirts. Skirts. Slacks. Jeans. Dresses. She glanced at some of the labels. All designer. All very expensive. She inspected the sweaters on the top shelf and the shoes tucked neatly into a shoe bag on the inside of the door. She opened the bureau and perused the contents. Slips that probably cost fifty dollars, underwear that no doubt started at twenty bucks a pair. Then she turned around and her gaze fell on the answering machine on the nightstand to the far side of the bed.

The red light glowed.

Frowning, she walked over to it, noting the counter stood at thirty. She turned the switch to PLAYBACK. She heard the tone, breathing, then the caller disconnected. The next two calls were the same. But on the fourth call, Murphy's inebriated voice said, "Eve, it's me. Murphy. Please pick up. I know you're there. Pick up, damnit." Then silence, then the dial tone again.

Fifth call: "Eve, it's July 5, 6:15 A.M. I know you're there. I'm sorry for the things I said to you. Please pick up the phone. I'm in Key West. I need to talk to you. Please."

Sixth call: "July 5, 6:25 A.M. If you don't pick up the goddamn receiver, I'm going to come over to the house, Eve. I'll break down the goddamn door, so help me. Please."

Seventh call: "July 5, 7 A.M. Eve, I know you're angry. I don't blame you. I apologize. I don't know what else I can do. I know I was wrong to believe what Aline said, but with everything that's been going on . . . Are you lying there listening to me? You are, aren't you. I know you are. I can almost see you. I can see you in that ice blue gown, Eve. Oh Jesus . . ."

Eighth call: "All right, it's 7:30. I'm drunker than a skunk. I've been here since I left your house yesterday, after we argued. Eve, did you kill Cavello? Did you wire the dynamite to his goddamn boat? Did you?"

There were another dozen calls. Murphy's words grew increasingly slurred, and each message was more frantic and accusatory than its predecessor. Aline sat there with her head in her hands, the past breaking up inside her chest. The final call had been at five this morning. He said he'd lied about where he was. He wasn't in a motel in Key West, but at the Cliff Motor Lodge off the Old Post Road.

Aline's head snapped up. She quickly dialed the station. Roxie answered, her voice gravelly, laced with fatigue. "Rox, it's me. Is Gene in yet?"